


O Children

by heyselene



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Apocalypse, Camping, Castiel/Dean Winchester First Kiss, Coping, Dancing, First Kiss, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Illnesses, Light Angst, M/M, On the Run, Pandemics, Sad, Sam Winchester is Missing, Sam is dead, Samulet (Supernatural), Slow Dancing, whew. it's been a tough week, written based on harry potter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-23
Updated: 2020-09-23
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:20:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26620558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heyselene/pseuds/heyselene
Summary: Dean's sure that Castiel can see the hesitation in his face, the way that Dean begrudgingly is allowing Cas to start to move him to the rhythm of the music.God, it's been so long since Dean has thought about dancing.But he can't say no to Cas now, not when Cas is looking at him like that. Not when the song is begging him just to let Cas take his hands.—This is a Destiel version of when Hermoine and Harry dance during The Deathly Hallows P 1. It's meant to be read in the same time it takes to listen to the song from the movie. :)
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 5
Kudos: 19





	O Children

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! I have written this fic to be read in about exactly 6:45 minutes. It is supposed to mirror the length of the song "O Children by Nick Cave and The Bad Seeds". It's actually a little longer than average reading speed— I figure us fanfiction lovers are quicker. That is why this is so much shorter than other things I write.
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HtrKPsUlM0E 
> 
> Find it there ^^ (Or on spotify!)
> 
> I wrote this yesterday while I was feeling a lot of things. I was thinking about this song— It's the song that plays in Harry Potter when everything feels hopeless and Harry pulls Hermoine up and makes her dance to the radio. Things feel like shit like that right now here in the U.S.— sometimes I think we've got our very own apocalypse on our hands. And I mostly process with Destiel. So here's Dean and Cas in that same spot from Harry Potter. 

Dean's head hurts. His eyes are tired, and he feels like it his chest doesn't stop twisting, he's going to burst. 

It's been days. So many days that it's started to feel like acceptance. Acceptance that they're not going to find Sam, that he'll never see him again. Sammy's really gone— it's starting to get to the point that Dean should consider starting to mourn his brother. 

The world is falling apart around them too— they're running from demons, they always are. But they're running from every creepy-crawly now too. No motel room is safe, they're watching and waiting for Dean and Cas to show themselves. 

And Dean has no idea if anyone is okay. They haven't heard from Jody or Bobby. They tried, in the beginning, to reach out to Bobby. The minute their phones connected the fucking demons were on them, at all angles, trying to get to the stupid amulet that Sam once gave Dean. The same one that apparently can lead them back to God. 

They take turns wearing the amulet now, never wanting it out of sight. When Dean can't take having that reminder of Sammy anymore, he'll pass it off to Cas. Then, when Dean misses Sam like a lost limb, he'll silently reach for the collar of Cas' shirt until Cas gives it back. 

They'd grabbed burner phones after that incident. Hoped to contact someone, just to hear that _someone_ was okay. But the moment they set foot in the RadioShack, the lights had been blown out and they'd had to haul ass before they got ganked by angels.

It's been radio silence, they can't pick up a payphone to call anyone they've ever known or something angry will be on Cas and Dean in an instant. 

So they just keep moving. They just keep packing up and hitting the road and setting up camp again, in their warded canvas tent. They camp in unmarked spots and pay for shit with cash. They pick up food in hoodies and face masks like they're worried about getting sick— and they kind of are. Cas learned to chop wood so they can start a fire some nights. 

They sleep in bags on foam camp pads with just two feet of space between them. A lot goes unsaid— a lot gets repeated. 

They've talked through every lead that they had about finding Sam— they checked the spot they grabbed him, the last place he was seen, all the places they might have considered taking him. 

Everything seems like a suicide mission. 

And the sky is darker now, too. It's red because the Southwest is on fire again. Dean can hear the news on their crackly radio when Cas plays it. California up in flames, heading up the coast. They can see the fucking haze the next morning all the way in Montana. 

It's not just the fires, either. It's the hurricanes too, and the way it's so much colder already, in September. Dean's been through more apocalypses than the Bible— but it still hurts because this time, he has no idea what to do. 

Dean listens as they report the numbers of people getting sick. He watches as Cas frowns into nothingness while politicians play with words and argue over what to do about how everyone seems to be spreading it. They can't decide exactly how contagious it is— but people just keep dying. And it seems far away on the radio until they finally stop for gas and see the requirements for face-coverings. 

It's a blessing that everyone seems distracted right now. They are able to go into a store and pick up some extra cans and such without anyone getting near to them. The shelves are still a little picked over— but things have gotten much better. People are expecting the spikes in sickness now. 

Castiel has stopped wearing his trench coat unless they're outside. Now he's in one of Sam's old sweaters. Dean can't decide if his heart squeezes every time he sees it because it's a reminder of all the love he has for Sam, or if it's because something is breaking when he sees Cas domestic and afraid. 

They're both afraid nowadays. They leave it unspoken. 

Cas will sit outside the tent and keep watch. He'll listen to the radio or read one of the books from the Impala. He'll cook or spend time just sitting and thinking. 

Sometimes Dean will tell him a story that feels insignificant— like about Sam and him and how they fought over who got a certain themed plastic toothbrush when they were children. 

Cas will listen and consider— then respond with a story that must seem equally mundane to him, but actually makes Dean's head spin when he remembers just how vast Castiel's existence is; how Cas has been reduced to almost nothing as he sits across from Dean, growing stubble and wearing hand-me-downs. 

Dean sits on the edge of hit cot and holds onto the amulet that Sam had given him all those years ago. He's thinking about what he would say to Sammy if he had a moment, if he had a chance. 

It's amazing how your priorities become exposed when you have to choose. Dean can't imagine being angry with Sam anymore— he's forgiven Sam so many times over now. He can't even begin to think of how deeply it hurts that Dean was never more clear with how much he loved Sam. 

The radio is a bit fuzzy out here in Montana. Dean's got it just dialed so they reach a channel that plays music that isn't half bad sometimes. The song playing right now is rough and mellow, Dean can't help but lean into the music as it floats. He's always felt like he's right there with it when there's a rhythm.

How he'll never be able to tell Sam about it. How stupid Dean has been. 

Dean thinks about how things seem to be collapsing all around him. He misses little things more than he ever thought he would. 

He misses a life routine. He misses his family, the way that he used to be able to go to the store, or work on his baby outside a motel. He misses joking around. 

He's digging his thumb into the tiny horns on the amulet, his head downturned as he tries not to let his eyes fill with tears. It's almost overkill to cry now. Dean doesn't even know if he'd be able to pinpoint exactly what he's crying for. 

He hears the flap of the tent door as Cas comes inside. He turns his face away, doesn't want to look at Cas, like neither one of them are there. 

Cas takes a seat across the tent on their cooler, watching Dean from across the room. The song has shifted into something that seems to roll into the tent, even through the tinny speakers. It's slower than the last song, and the man singing fades to the back with a weighted melody. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Dean sees Cas get up and cross the tent, coming into Dean's space. 

Dean has no choice but to look up at him, feeling rough. He doesn't know whether it makes him feel better or worse that Castiel looks the same way. Cas is wearing that stupid sweater— the green one that Sam used to wear whenever he was having a good day. It's something thrifted— something that had once been really nice and has stayed looking clean because of its quality. Cas stares at Dean. 

Then Cas holds out one rough palm. 

Dean looks down at it. 

Hesitantly, Dean reaches forward and takes Castiel's hand with his own. Cas pulls him forward and up, his eyes never leaving Dean's. Their other set of hands find each other as Cas leads Dean to the small open space in the tent, just big enough that they have some wiggle room. 

Cas is in his space, a breath away. His hands gently tug from Dean's and reach up around Dean's neck, feeling for the clasp of the leather string that holds the amulet. Cas digs a nail into the metal bit and takes it off from Dean's neck. 

Dean expects Cas to take the necklace and put it on himself instead, but Cas tosses it gently behind Dean onto his cot. 

And they stand there, no amulet between them. No God-finding, Sammy-given bit of uncertainty. Just Castiel and Dean, human and so fucking torn up after months of living like this. 

Dean can smell Castiel from how close he's standing. He can't seem to stop looking into Cas' eyes now, which is crazy because usually, he avoids it at all costs. 

Cas grabs his hands again, stepping them back so they have some more room. 

They stand, hand in hand as the music starts to swell from the radio. Cas tugs one hand and begins to sway, pulling Dean's arms back and forth a little to get him to move. 

Dean's sure that Castiel can see the hesitation in his face, the way that Dean begrudgingly is allowing Cas to start to move him to the rhythm of the music. 

God, it's been so long since Dean has thought about _dancing._

But he can't say no to Cas now, not when Cas is looking at him like that. Not when the song is begging him just to let Cas take his hands. 

He starts to move with Cas. 

Cas lips tug into a bit of a smile, rocking back and forth with Dean. Dean can't help but let his lips upturn with the ridiculousness of the motion. Castiel does not know how to dance. 

Eventually, after a few measures of swaying, Cas lets go of one of Dean's hands and pushes with the other to twirl Dean in an awkwardly quick spin, which makes Dean laugh. 

So Cas does it again. 

They dance through the chorus and another verse, Dean eventually guiding more so that Cas and he are moving in time with the song. He spins Cas easier than Cas had spun him, and when their eyes meet, Cas has a giddy look— like someone should when they get spun dancing. 

Dean’s lips quirk as Cas eagerly picks up the terrible arm moving rhythm again, tugging Dean's arms to keep going. 

They dance for a while longer, Dean spinning himself once, tucking himself to Cas' chest as Cas chuckles. Dean registers that the sweater still smells like the bunker a little bit. 

His face falters, and their movements start to slow as they both remember that this glitter of happy is just that— a glitter. 

Dean leans forward letting Cas make their dance become a slow one as he pulls Dean closer and puts his hands on Dean's waist. They sway together slow. Dean puts a hand on Cas' shoulder and sets his chin on it, hiding away to look over Cas' shoulder. 

Cas just holds him. It's a pretense of dancing, but they're just holding each other, swaying to a song neither of them has ever heard before, and feeling desperate for a million things. 

Castiel leans back first. It has to be that way— Dean can't lean away from anyone he loves anymore. 

Their gazes meet again, sharper than before, sadder than before. They're so close that Dean can't focus on Cas completely, his vision blurred. 

Dean registers Cas' lips. The way his cheeks pink up now that he's human. He sees the hair that's growing on Cas' face and the way that Cas' eyes are crinkling half-closed in the low light. 

Dean doesn't think any more about what love makes him do. There's not enough time. The way things are now— it exposes his priorities. 

He leans forward and kisses Cas. His lips are parted as he goes in, and he finds Cas' the same way. They breathe into each other's mouths, Cas' sighing while Dean gasps. 

Cas is warm against him and Dean feels his chest squeeze hard again. Cas' lips are chapped like Dean has imagined. He tastes like shitty coffee and ozone and morning breath. 

Dean pulls away before Cas can deepen the kiss. He opens his eyes— not realizing he let them close. He stares as Cas slowly blinks back at him. 

Things go mostly unspoken nowadays. 

Dean leans back, makes space between them again. He gets space back as the song starts to fade from the radio. 

He remembers the way the sky is hazy outside. The necklace that's lying in a heap of blankets on his camping cot. The softness of Sam's old sweater and the roughness in comparison of Cas' hands and stubble. 

Dean backs away. He keeps his eyes on Cas— no embarrassment, no regret. 

It's just how things are now. Things like this are just a glitter right now. 

Dean leaves the tent with a flap of canvas. 

**Author's Note:**

> I do have hope for the world for the future, I promise, even with this fic seems dismal. I am just processing how my college years are slipping away before my eyes as I do homework from a tiny apartment when the city is just outside my window. I miss my grandparents. I miss the way that it felt to read Harry Potter for the first time.
> 
> Fear not! I have other things in the works— something particularly angsty is coming soon, and hopefully a fluffy masterpiece after that. Thank you for reading!


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